Emperor

by Isaac Hooke

Those eyes glowed with an unexpected purple light.

  I will destroy everything I am before I give myself to thee! Balu said.

  The purple light spread to the cranium, and the head began to dissolve, along with the swords forming the jaw.

  And then Malem won. He crushed the black dragon’s will, wrapping his mind around it in a tight vise. But it was only a partial Breaking, because he felt no slots used in his head, nor did his mental space expand in any way. Still, it should have been good enough for his purposes…

  Stop! he commanded.

  The purple light faded. The dragon’s skull began to reform, along with the swords that composed its teeth.

  You are mine, now, Malem said. Never again will you hold stamina in reserve for yourself. You will give me everything that you drain from the dragons I slay.

  Yes, master, Balu said, head bowed.

  You will also stop fighting me, Malem said. When I am in combat, you will not try to seize control of my mind. You will stop thirsting for my allies.

  Yes, master, the dragon said.

  Now then, return me to my world, Malem said.

  You are already in your world, Balu said. In body. Only your mind is here.

  With that realization, Malem was able to break free of the mental illusion Balu had created.

  He was back on the parapet. His blade still moved in mid-swing. He tried to stop, but it was too late—momentum carried the magic sword inexorably toward Nemertes’ scale-covered neck.

  The big blue slid her neck aside the instant before the blade struck, and the sword clanged harmlessly into the flagstones of the parapet.

  “Too slow,” Nemertes mocked. She lifted her head away from him. “Though I must admit I’m a little shocked you’d let the sword win, you little shit!”

  “It didn’t win,” Malem said.

  Stamina gushed inside of him in a veritable torrent, and he realized Balethorn was giving him all the endurance it yet held in reserve, as per his instructions. Though it had used much fighting him, there was still a substantial amount there, and he straightened, feeling incredibly invigorated, and shared it with all of his companions, including Nemertes, until their bundles brimmed with energy.

  “You reward me for offering my neck?” Nemertes said. “Interesting. I might have to toy with you like this more often.”

  “What just happened?” Xaxia said.

  Of his female companions, the bandit was the only one who hadn’t received any of the stamina he doled out—as a pure human, she could not be bound to him.

  “I’m not sure,” Malem said. “But I think, with Nemertes’ help, I just upgraded my sword.”

  “How?” Abigail asked.

  “I Broke the dragon inside it,” Malem said.

  He held the blade toward Nemertes, but felt nothing.

  He nodded to himself. “There’s no longer any fight in the blade. That’s one less thing I’ll have to worry about in combat. I would have done this earlier, if I had known I had the ability.”

  “Maybe you can Break my blade, too?” Xaxia said.

  He glanced at her hilt. “I think I’ve Broken enough blades for a little while. Besides, yours hungers for oraks. That’s a good thing.”

  “Except when you have oraks fighting by your side,” she said.

  “If it becomes a problem, I’ll fix it,” he said.

  He realized he was still standing on the large writ, in exactly the same spot where he had been before.

  He glanced at the drying blood. “I think I want you to test the blood, next time.”

  “I thought you Broke your sword?” She taunted as she touched Biter to the blood. She withdrew the blade and wiped the tip with a stained cloth fetched from one pocket. “Not yet.”

  “I did Break it,” he told her.

  She gestured toward the blood. “Let’s see.”

  He hesitated, not sure if he wanted to touch Balethorn to the blood yet again. But he supposed there was only one way to know for sure if he had dominated the blade.

  He pressed the tip into the coagulating blood. The sword did nothing, and remained completely silent.

  Xaxia pressed her lips together. “Definitely seems under your control. But the question is, is it Broken, or is it broken?”

  “I guess I’ll find out when it comes time to kill dragons,” he said.

  He touched the blood again after a few minutes—it had dried completely, so he folded up the parchment and secured it with a cloth tie. When Abigail arrived shortly thereafter, he gave it to her.

  “What is this, a blueprint?” Abigail asked when she accepted the long, folded tube.

  “That’s pretty much what I thought, too,” Xaxia commented.

  “It’s the writ for King Agantas,” he told Abigail. “Tell him his weapon inspectors are to give this to the blues that intercept them above our forest camp.”

  “Hopefully, the blues don’t attack them before they can share it,” Abigail said.

  “For the sake of our budding forest city, I hope they don’t,” Malem agreed. “Still, they know we are visiting the Metals. It won’t be too much of a surprise that a Metal envoy has returned to give them a message.”

  “Why so big?” Abigail asked.

  “I had to get Nemertes’ signature,” Malem replied.

  “Ah,” she said. “Yours wasn’t good enough?”

  “Evidently not,” Xaxia said.

  Malem shrugged. Abigail departed, and when she had delivered the writ to the king, he summoned his companions in preparation for the flight west.

  Once again, he rode Nemertes with Wendolin, while the others were distributed across the remaining Metal dragons in the party.

  He gazed at the city below, at those buildings stripped of their gold and emeralds, of those streets that once glittered with diamonds but were now pocked by black holes. He often spotted Metals toiling below. Some worked to rebuild damaged buildings, half in dragon form, the other half human, and together they set foundations, laid bricks, and fixed roofs. Other Metals were reapplying gold to the facades of their tower homes. He wasn’t entirely certain where they had obtained this gold, but he had heard that many of the Metals kept caches hidden in the Harken mountains. The application process was interesting: in dragon form, a Metal would hold an ingot against the wall with one forelimb, and repeatedly breath fire at the bar until it melted. The gold would flow down onto the wall quite a distance before drying.

  I always wondered how they did that, Gwen commented over the shared mental link.

  Soon, the walls of the city fell away, as did the mountain that held them, and Khaledonius receded behind them.

  Malem noticed Abigail glancing behind her while she flew. She gazed longingly at the city.

  You know we can never come back here, right? Malem told Abigail over a private link.

  She tore her eyes from the receding city of dragons to look at him. He sensed anger from her energy bundle. Why not? You’re afraid of marrying me?

  It’s not so much I’m afraid, he told her. Versus I can’t. How is everyone else supposed to feel?

  I don’t think my father will care very much if you keep a few mistresses, Abigail said. Especially if you’re discreet about it.

  That’s the thing, Malem said. As wife, you get automatic status above everyone else. The other women aren’t going to like being relegated to the lesser rank of mistress. So far, I’ve managed to avoid jealousy issues among you, but that’s going to change if I start playing favorites and calling you wife.

  I’m sure you’ll figure something out, Abigail mocked. You are emperor Malem, Breaker of Balors, after all.

  Yeah, I have actually, he said. We ain’t coming back.

  She sniffed over their mental line, and looked away. We’ll see.

  11

  The Harken mountain range soon gave way to the Khroma mountains, which trended north-south, and Malem steered Nemertes north to follow alongside them. While the Harken mountains had been rounded, almost cozy, low run
ning ranges of gray and green, the Khroma mountains were stark, black, jagged things, closely packed like teeth thrusting from the ground.

  He had considered returning to the Midweald to retrieve more dragons, but decided his party was well-equipped to handle whatever this Furlantos threw at them—assuming the Green was still in its nest. Besides, Malem wanted a small, light assault group for this mission, something he could attack with quickly, and withdraw just as rapidly. He wasn’t expecting much resistance, given the description Nemertes had given him of the nest: Furlantos had had a falling out with the other Greens sometime after the raid upon the Metals, and lived alone in his den on the northern tip of the Khroma mountain range.

  Yes, a small light team was the way to go, not a sprawling, unmanageable group of dragons. The logistics of feeding seven dragons was tricky enough as it was. At noon for example he’d had to make a detour so the creatures could hunt along the plains next to the mountains. There had been just enough mountain goats to feed them. If he had more dragons with him, some of the beasts would be going hungry right about now.

  This beats walking any day, Gwen said. Or even horseback. It would have taken us weeks to get here on horses, considering all the different mountain passes we’d have to struggle through.

  Dragon back is the way to go, Malem agreed.

  So, I know there are no Blues and Blacks here, Gwen said. Since Vorgon drafted them all. And they’ve since joined us. But what about the other Khromas? Greens, Reds, and so forth.

  Well, we know at least one Green is here, Ziatrice said. Or used to be.

  Most Khromas left years ago, Weyanna said. Long before Vorgon arrived. And of course when the Balor came, the mountains essentially emptied. Though I suspect there are still a few who remain to guard their treasure hoards. Some Reds. A Blue. The occasional White.

  You say most left before Vorgon? Gwen asked. Why?

  During the Lean Years after the First Balor War, The Blues and Blacks became predominate, Weyanna replied. They banded together, forming competing packs, and monopolized the food sources. Most of the other Khromas were forced to leave to survive. Those that stayed mostly hibernated on their hoards. Some are probably still hibernating to this day. With luck, Furlantos will be asleep himself.

  I didn’t even know there was a First Balor War, Gwen said. How did it start?

  The race of men was not involved, Gannet said. The dwarf king Falsanor opened the door to the Black Realm beneath his mountain. A door that had been sealed for centuries. Some say he was mad. Others that a Balor had somehow influenced his mind from the Black Realm. Whatever the case, the resulting fighting cost him half of his mountain, and half his population. As well as his own life.

  Twenty Balors, and other dark things, poured through into this realm, which was located at the southernmost tip of the Khroma mountains. Eventually the Balors and other monsters burst forth from the mountain, and swept onto the Wilden plains beyond, killing everything. Man was spared, because there were no settlements beyond the mountain range in those days.

  The dragons allied with the Tree Elves and mounted a concerted defense—Metals fought alongside Khromas, Night Dragons fought next to Day Dragons. The Balors were eventually defeated, and banished back to their realm, though at great cost to dragon kind. And the countryside was ravaged. That was the start of the Lean Years.

  How were you able to defeat the Balors so easily back then? Malem asked. I mean, of course it wasn’t easy, but I’m thinking how comparatively hard it was to stop Vorgon in this age. A single Balor.

  Solan was the one who answered. That was before the Balors had consolidated their power by slaying their rivals. There were still thousands of them in the Black Realm back then. They were far weaker by today’s standards, as they had to share the essence of their realm among themselves. But only twelve Balors exist today. The Twelve, as we call them. They each wield a far larger portion of that essence, and are commensurately more powerful. Plus, in the First Balor War, we were able to secure an alliance among all dragons, and some elves. But in this age, Vorgon moved quickly to defeat key races, conquering them and making their kings and queens his Black Swords. It was mostly men who joined forces against the Balor, men who were ill-equipped to fight the demon. The remaining unconquered races were aware of just how powerful the Balors had become, and were reluctant to commit. Even when we Metals joined you, we were still overpowered by the creature.

  What about the Paragons? Malem asked. Why didn’t they join the wars?

  The Paragons played a role in the Second Balor War, Wendolin said. But only because we faced hundreds of them, only twenty years after the first war had ended. I fought at the side of Queen Illustris of the Paragons, and it was truly a sight to behold, to watch those behemoths battle against one another.

  I’ve seen a hint of it, Malem said, thinking of when Banvil fought Vorgon.

  That war was arranged by Denfidal, Wendolin said. Even then, the demon plotted the destruction of its brethren. Denfidal stayed in the Black Realm, while those other Balors flooded into our realm. The demon took control of the territory of every Balor that left for our world, and the few that returned were greeted by the traps he had laid. He was the first to begin consolidating his power, which is why he has become the most powerful. Vorgon was second to the demon. Banvil, third.

  Malem kept the mental chatter to a minimum for the remainder of the journey north. The party encountered no other dragons that day, nor any other monsters. He kept his beast sense searching far and wide, and he detected a dragon nesting in one of the mountains below. If they didn’t find Furlantos to the north, they could always come back to investigate.

  They landed on the shoulders of the mountain when evening came.

  Malem and Wendolin dismounted. He slid down Nemertes wing, and Wendolin followed just behind him. He moved out of the way a little too slowly—it was on purpose—and she crashed into him. Giggling, she extricated herself.

  “You did that on purpose,” Wendolin said, her haunted eyes shining with amusement for once.

  “Oh no, I wouldn’t dream of it,” Malem said. He admired her tight, silver-trimmed blue dress. It accentuated her hour-glass figure, though he wished it would show more bosom.

  Wendolin carried a trident and net set strapped to her back, as a backup for those situations where there was no wood for her particular brand of earth magic to work. She had assured him that she was a proficient fighter with the gear, but when he’d asked her to demonstrate against Xaxia at one point, her refusal told him everything he needed to know.

  It looked like she had painted her face slightly this evening. Which was odd, considering she was beautiful enough without makeup. She must have done it during the ride, though how she had managed it on dragon back, he didn’t know. She had released her hold around his hips a few times during the journey, and now he understood why.

  “Tonight you’re going to sleep with me,” Malem announced.

  The happiness in those eyes quickly faded, replaced by that calculating intellect he had come to know.

  Bad move.

  Sure enough, she said: “Am I now? I don’t think so.”

  He was getting rusty at seducing women. He supposed it came with the complacency of having so many at his beck and call already. He was getting lazy, falling into the abundance mindset, half expecting every woman to leap into his bed and beg him to fuck their brains out the moment he laid eyes upon them.

  It was always good to be reminded of the cold, harsh realities of the real world now and again.

  Frustrated, he said: “You’re trying so hard to pretend you’re a good girl, when in truth you’re the opposite. I know you think withholding sex will grant you power over me, but it will only get you so far.”

  She shrugged, and patted him convivially on the shoulder. “We’ll see.”

  With that, she walked away.

  Definitely getting rusty.

  Wendolin went to help the other dragons don the clothing they had c
arried in the large saddles.

  Malem forgot about Wendolin entirely as he stared at those naked half dragons; in particular, his gaze lingered on Brita, and he stared at that tight ass longingly, though he tried not to make it too obvious, knowing how many watching eyes there were around him.

  “You like the pixieish dragon, do you?” Timlir said, coming alongside.

  “Damn,” he said. “I was trying to be subtle.”

  “You’re about as subtle as a lizard in a hen house!” Timlir said. “She hasn’t slept with you yet?”

  “Brita?” he asked. “No. I doubt she ever will. She’s kind of standoffish. Probably a cold fish in bed.”

  “It sounds like you’re saying that more to convince yourself, than me!” Timlir said.

  “Yeah, probably,” Malem admitted.

  “How’s the sister?” Timlir asked eagerly.

  He glanced at the dwarf. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

  “Oh,” Timlir said. “I see how it is.”

  “Good,” Malem said.

  “I once slept with a dwarf female that looked similar to her,” Timlir said. “She kept her beard cropped as low as her hair. My, but she was a feisty one in the sack! And scrumptious, too, her breasts like fine sacks of freshly dug diamonds carried straight from the mines.”

  Malem chuckled. “You and your mine analogies.”

  “Grow up beneath a mountain, you’d be spouting ‘em, too,” Timlir stated.

  As soon as the dragons were finished dressing, Malem sent them mental commands.

  Solan, Gannet, you’ll take first watch. Abigail, Weyanna, you have second. Brita, Sylfi, you get third.

  He watched them pitch their tents. He had no intention of pitching his own, of course—he would be sleeping in another tent tonight.

  Goldenthall joined him. “So, how does it feel to be Emperor? Is it everything you thought it would be?”

  “So far, no,” Malem said. “Then again, I haven’t really had a chance to be emperor, have I? My kingdom isn’t even finished, and I’m already hunted by a Balor. Besides, I’m more a king than an emperor.”

  “I would disagree,” Goldenthall said. “You rule multiple monster species, not just one. You’ve created your own Black Swords who act as your intermediaries among these species, and they are essentially kings and queens in their own right. Though what puzzles me is that you bring them all with you.”